de Chagny
by extendedbirdmetaphors
Summary: Raoul de Chagny came into this world as his mother left.
1. Chapter 1

His mother had been in labor for thirty-seven hours. Phillipe, who had been sitting and waiting in the parlor since hour seventeen, made idle conversation with his sisters. His father was probably still pacing outside the bedroom door. He tried to ignore the Comtesse's cries, as he knew they weren't abnormal. He had sat patiently waiting through Emilie and Delphine's births, and everything had gone smoothly.

"Do you think she'll be done soon?" asked Emilie for probably the tenth time that hour.

"I don't know, it depends. We only had to wait a few hours for you, but she was in there for a day with Delphine. Of course, you don't remember Delphine's birth because you were still practically a baby yourself."

Delphine looked up from her book. "It's going to be strange to have a younger brother or sister, don't you think? Considering that we're all almost grown up, but we'll have a baby sibling. It's just been the three of us for so long."

"I suppose," replied Phillipe. But before he could say anymore he realized distinctly that his mother had stopped yelling. He could make out a baby crying.

"She's had it then!" said Emilie. "When can we go up and see her?"

A deep, guttural cry reverberated throughout the house. Philippe's face filled with horror as he heard his father wordlessly screaming. He stood up without thinking about it, and ran up the stairs. He nearly slammed into the midwife's assistant as he made his way through the corridor. He noticed that she was weeping, but he didn't even consider that. He found the door to the bedroom ajar, and inside, his father kneeling at the beside, sobbing into wife's chest.

Philippe had to hold onto the door frame when he saw the unnaturally pale face of his mother contorted into a glassy, wide-eyed expression of pain.

She was dead. Philippe managed to stumble into the room, suppressing his tears. His father did not seem to notice his presence, and continued wailing.

He nearly threw up, from the combination of grief and the amount of blood on the bed. He heard his sisters coming up the stairs and turned in time to see them realize what happened. They started to sob as well, clutching desperately to each other.

It was just then that Phillipe noticed another person in the room. The grim-faced midwife held a shrieking bundle in her arms. He made his way over to her.

"It's a boy, Monsieur le Vicomte," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. There was nothing that could be done about your mother, but your brother is healthy."

"Thank you," he replied. "May I- may I hold him?"

She nodded, and carefully placed the baby in his arms.

His baby brother stopped crying a few moments after he settled into his arms. His bright blue eyes opened, and Phillipe felt another stab of pain. Just like his mother's.

He turned to find his father still unconsolable. Delphine, with fat tears rolling down her cheeks, reached out a hand to comfort him, but he slapped it away.

"Papa," said Philippe angrily. "She's trying to help."

The Comte looked up, his face red. "She can't help! She can't bring my Rosalie back!" he shouted.

The baby began to cry again.

"You've upset him! Please, don't you want to hold your son?"

"That- that thing killed my wife!

"He's your son!"

"Papa, please!" cried Emilie.

"Quiet!" Philippe's father wept bitterly. "I don't care what you do with him, but get him out of my sight."

He didn't have the strength to argue with his father further. He cradled the baby against his chest, trying futilely to calm him. He turned to the midwife, who was standing there, trying not to pay to much attention to the argument.

"Madame, would you come with me? I have things I wish to discuss with you."

She nodded and Philippe left the room, not before kissing his mother's cold forehead. His sisters followed behind him. He only glanced at his father, who had returned to his prior position of weeping into the mattress.

"I am so sorry for your loss," said the midwife, once they were out of earshot of the room. "But unfortunately you must think of the little boy now. You have a wet nurse, yes?"

Philippe nodded. "I'll send for her a little while."

They reached the nursery, which had been long out of use but repainted and refurbished in preparation for the new baby. He bit his lip as he looked at the blankets and toys, so lovingly chosen by his mother. She had been so overjoyed to be having another child, as unexpected as it was for a woman of her age. _Christ_, thought Philippe._ She was only forty._

He looked down at the little bundle in his arms. He had stopped crying, but instead looked up at him with a piercing gaze. Philippe decided then and there that he would be the best older brother he could possibly be to this little person.

He was vaguely aware that the midwife was discussing something with Delphine, but he didn't have the energy to listen. He deposited the baby into the cradle and looked at him sadly. He would not cry. He couldn't cry.


	2. Chapter 2

No one in the house could bear to look at the baby much. Delphine had been in to look in on him a few times, but Emilie had retreated to her room and had not left it since. His father refused to leave his wife's side, and had to be restrained when they moved her body out. He still wanted nothing to do with his youngest son.

Philippe had spent the morning arranging the funeral, since his father was inconsolable. Now he sat in an armchair in the nursery, watching his brother sleep. He was an adorable baby, which was at odds with all the misery he had brought with him._ No_, _it's not his fault,_Philippe reminded himself. _He's just a baby. _

The baby was stirring now, whimpering a little. Philippe crossed the room and picked him up. He held him against his shoulder, patting him gently on the back.

He needed to stop calling him _the baby. _But he still had no name, and his only living parent couldn't stand the sight of him. _What would Maman want him to be called? _His parents hadn't discussed baby names with him.

Philippe glanced at the cluster of family photographs hanging on the wall. There was Philippe aged six, Delphine and Emilie posed in front of the fireplace, a picture of his uncle who had been lost at sea when Philippe was four.

Raoul was his mother's beloved younger brother. And it might just be the name for the little bundle his arms.

_Raoul de Chagny. It had a certain ring to it. _


	3. Chapter 3

The day of the funeral, he decided to check in on his father. He found the Comte de Chagny in his shirtsleeves fast asleep on his study floor, clutching a half-full bottle of wine.

Philippe gently shook him, and then shook him a little less gently when he didn't respond. Finally he opened his eyes and muttered something unintelligible.

"Papa, the funeral's today. Get up."

His father's face contorted with pain at the reminder. He rolled over on the floor so that his face was in the carpet.

"Papa…"

"Go away."

Philippe ignored his father and stood there, impatient. Philibert at last stood up without a word and poured himself a bourbon.

"I won't go. I can't bear the thought of my Rosalie rotting underground."

"Papa, please," Philippe held back tears. "Your children need you."

"Are you taking the baby?" he said gruffly.

"His name is Raoul, since you can't be bothered to name your own son."

"Raoul? Like her brother?" his father said softly. "She'd like that."

"She'd want you to go. She'd want you to love him."

His father was suddenly furious. "Don't you dare tell me what she'd want! She would understand that I can't stand the thing that killed her. She would understand." He. broke down sobbing. "My Rosalie," he wept. "Moldering in the ground."

Phillippe couldn't stand the pathetic sight of his father and couldn't listen to him anymore. He pulled the cord for his father's valet to come dress him, and left the room.

He walked down the hallway to the baby's bedroom. He found the wet nurse, a cheerful woman from the village who had lost her own child, dressing Raoul in black.

"You're a good little boy, aren't you, M. Raoul?" Agathe said to the baby. She stiffened when she felt Philippe's presence.

"M. le Vicomte," she turned and bowed. "I didn't see you there, forgive me."

"It's quite all right," he replied curtly. "Madame, if you don't mind, I think I'll carry him down to the cemetery."

"Of course, M. le Vicomte. He's such a sweet little baby, isn't he?" she said as she picked up Raoul and handed him to Philippe.

"Indeed," he replied, looking down at the bundle in his arms.


End file.
